


Luck, Chance and Destiny

by Maztermo



Category: Danganronpa, Danganronpa trigger happy havoc, super danganronpa 2: goodbye despair
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Hope's Peak Academy (Dangan Ronpa), Just some one-shots based on luck as a prompt, Like she's there since Mukuro is also there but she doesn't do anything bad, Multi, Non Despair AU, Non-Despair Enoshima Junko
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:20:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23430832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maztermo/pseuds/Maztermo
Summary: LuckNoun1. Success or failure apparently brought by chance rather than through one's own actions.2. Chance considered as a force that causes good or bad things to happen.No-one knows luck better than Makoto Naegi. Or so he thought. An unconnected series of fortunate and unfortunate events leads him to question himself, his school, and the natural forces of the universe as he feels his way around the school year.
Relationships: Kirigiri Kyoko/Naegi Makoto, Kuwata Leon/Naegi Makoto
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	1. Lucky Strike

The Naegi household was finally in its last phase of chaos. The beginning was quiet, so much so that it was impossible to tell that it had started at all. The letter from Hope’s Peak brought tears of joy and praise to the parents and annoyed groans from the sister. It seemed like nothing new. An ordinary household celebrating their eldest son attending the most prestigious school in the country with normal family treats. They watched T.V, ate take-out and stayed up late on a weekend. The boy who was being celebrated kept saying that it was just a lucky draw, his sister agreed with that. Still, she enjoyed the ice-cream while she was allowed to stay awake with the excuse being “He’s older and can handle staying up later.” Normal family stuff. 

The second phase was one of frequent planning, daydreaming and lecturing, particularly by his father. Mr. Naegi had a lot to say about the incredible opportunities Makoto was being offered and how he should continue to study hard and get good grades. The school had a near 100% rate for graduates earning highly successful careers but that was no excuse to slack off, or so he was told. Lots of nodding and humming in acknowledgement in the morning while maneuvering around the kitchen, finding out his sister had drunk the last of the milk and sticking their tongues out at each other when dad wasn’t looking. The daydreaming was often done during those lectures before and after school. Mum was far less worried about the academic side. She insisted on talking about things like socialising and how he might find it difficult to ‘fit in’ with the other kids. Makoto assured her that he wouldn’t have too much of a problem and that everything would be under control. A normal boy in a school full of talented experts did scare him a little but he didn’t let it show. Of course, his sister saw right through that facade. Komaru would gently encourage him with past experience of moving schools, making friends and coping well in tense environments, with some bullying to keep him humble. She’d sit on the couch and take up as much room as she could to keep him on the floor, purely to stare over his shoulder at the manga he’d picked up from the store near their house. The house smelled of fabric cleaner from new uniforms being washed and the scent of new books mixing with faint vanilla extract from their parent’s bedroom. He remembered the honest conversation while turning pages, barely retaining any of the information on the pages. She smacked him with a pillow as she went to retrieve a snack. Typical family preparing their eldest child.

Now was the time for Makoto to spread his wings. He’d been abruptly woken up by a disgruntled Komaru four minutes before his alarm was supposed to go off. He tried to roll over to sleep in but she wasn’t having it. 

“Get up.” Lights were flickered on and off obnoxiously along with the Komaru chant (she would chant anything if she felt like it.) She began to clap to her chant as Makoto very slowly sat up, rubbed his eyes, yawned and pulled out his uniform from his wardrobe. He passed her in the doorway and let out a very harsh breath directly on her face. Komaru coughed and gagged. The usual fight for the bathroom was cut short by mum frantically tending to her baby boy.

“Are you wearing deodorant?”

“Yes, mum.”

“Did you brush your teeth?”

“Yes, mum.”

“Oh dear, your hair is sticking out again. Can you pack your comb?”

“Mum, it’s fine. It just does that.”

Dad was far less worried about that aspect. While Mum was fixing up Makoto’s uniform, Dad was preparing a lengthy text for later to ask about his son’s day. He needed it to feel like a natural conversation while hitting on key topics. This stuff was very important, especially when Makoto would need to learn how to write good e-mails when he eventually got a job (which was also one of the key topics he needed to include somehow.) Very serious business. Suddenly, none of the advice was worth it because all of the useful stuff was coming out now. Specifics were now arising ten seconds before he was out of the door. He forgot most of it as mum was attacking his cheeks with proud kisses. Komaru abused her slight height advantage with a ruffle of his hair. Dad gave a reassuring pat on the back. 

Makoto swung the bag over his shoulders, took a long, deep breath, and walked toward the bus stop. He waved and smiled at some friends who lived close. Lots of “Good luck!” from across the street as he watched them walk passed. The bus didn’t come for a while so he posted a quick photo of himself and shared it to the roughly 40 people who followed him. The bus ride was uneventful so he tried another update photo with the caption, “feeling lowkey nervous can u tell?” 

He stared out the window. The scenery changed from homey suburb to bright green pristine paradise. The people he saw looked a lot more eccentric than back at home. There was a lot of hair dyeing and piercings. He started to make a game out of counting how many people had what coloured hair. He counted two oranges, three whites (although, one was more silver-y lavender and another was a light pink), three blondes, two purples, one redhead and one person he put into the ‘ridiculously colourful’ category. The sky was nice and clear for staring at people for a little too long. His mind began to wander into the absurd while the bus stopped at traffic. _What if clouds were like based on feelings? Like storm clouds are people who are angry and it rains for people who are sad. That would explain why the funeral scenes in every movie has it in the rain. Cuz everyone’s sad. And that’s why some clouds have shapes like the one that looked like a slug being chased by a turtle. Is no-one feeling anything today?_

The bus stopped and several people stood up, scanned their cards and hopped off. Makoto thanked the bus driver before he blended into the crowd on the pavement. Some stared at his uniform. He swore he heard someone talking about him to the person next to them. He wondered what they were talking about. Maybe they were close friends and they thought the uniform looked nice. Mum had said that the brown complemented his hair and that the colour would be hard to pull off on other kids. Not her perfect children though, they could pull off anything. He stood up a little straighter at the thought. 

It took a little bit of wandering but he eventually found the gates to Hope’s Peak. The tall, polished building made him a little intimidated. The grass was cut the same length on both sides of the concrete walkway and the trees looked big enough to shade an army under their branches. And here was Makoto Naegi; an ordinary boy with unkempt hair and a little more pep than most standing at the entrance. He sighed and took his first step. 

He tripped and fell, slamming his face into the concrete. It took a second for it to settle in but the headache was powerful. He touched a hand on his face and felt a bruise on his forehead. His nose was bleeding. It began to drip into his mouth. It tasted like copper.

“Holy shit, are you okay?”

Makoto groaned and shifted onto his knees. He looked at one of his shoes. One of the laces was untied. He turned his head up to the concerned voice. It was one of the oranges he’d counted before. Fluffy and orange, multiple piercings, bright blue eyes and a beard. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. I just tripped,” Makoto said with a smile. 

Orange cringed. “Yeesh, you’re bleeding. So much for a good start.”

Makoto was about to wipe his face on the jacket when he suddenly remembered his sister complaining about how hard it is to wash blood off of clothes. He wasn’t sure why she knew that until a very awkward conversation a couple of weeks prior to the letter. Unsure of what to do, he tried to snort it back into his nose. That was a terrible idea. He hacked and coughed up snot and blood. He hid his face in his hands.

Orange chuckled, “Dude, you need help? There’s a shop nearby, we could pick up tissues or something.” And then he was offered a hand.

Sheepishly, Makoto took that hand and was pulled to his feet.

“You got a name?” Orange asked, putting a hand to his hip.

“Makoto Naegi. You?”

“Leon Kuwata. I was going to say “Nice to meet you,” but I’m sure there are better ways to meet someone.” Leon’s expression changed. "Wait, did you say Naegi?”

Makoto nodded but he regretted it instantly. His head still hurt. 

“Hold on...” Leon dug through his white jacket and pulled out a black phone with a little sticker on the bottom that read “Makoto Naegi.” He handed it to Makoto who chuckled gratefully. He had to wipe the blood off on the back of his hand as it was getting increasingly harder to speak. It was gross but he managed to restrain himself from wiping it on his pants.

“Oh, thank you! I didn’t even realise that this was missing.”

“Well, I might not have found you if you hadn’t tripped over.”

Makoto pocketed his phone and quickly tied up his laces. The two walked to the local shop and Makoto bought a packet of tissues as well as the sympathy from the cashier who also offered a cold drink for his bruise. He chose water at first but Leon talked some sense into him. (“Seriously? Any drink you want for nothing and you choose water? Come on.”) The store speakers were playing a live version of some pop song he remembered hearing on the radio. He took out an iced coffee from the freezer. He paid for it anyway out of guilt, much to the eye rolling of Leon.

“You’ve still got some blood on your face,” Leon pointed out.

“Where?” Makoto kept patting his face with a tissue but he kept missing. 

“Like, just before your lip. I meant above, not before. Top lip. A little to the right. You know what? Here.” Leon snatched a tissue and held Makoto’s face with his other hand. He wiped off the spot in one clean swipe and balled it up in his fist. He then managed to throw it into a bin on the other side of the store. 

It was amazing. Not the throwing (although, that was also pretty impressive,) but the gentle yet firm grip on Makoto’s face. Instantly, his heart was leaping out of his chest and he had to hold his breath. His teeth were minty fresh so he had no reason to but he did it anyway, against his will. Leon’s eyes were in front of his face and they were really blue. Super blue, inhumanly blue. And yet, they reminded him of the natural sky above. He touched his face after Leon had let go.  
“Sorry, no homo,” Leon added.

Makoto creased his brows. “No homo...?”

“Like, I didn’t mean to hold your face for so long. That was weird. Wait, was it? I dunno. I just wanted to make sure.”

“What does no homo mean?”

Leon stared at him like he had asked something ridiculous. He laughed but it was uncomfortable. He had to ask, “Wait, are you serious?”

“I’m serious. What does it mean?”

He took a second. “D... do you know what homo means?”

Makoto shook his head.

“It’s like uh... shit, uh. It’s like when a chick likes another chick or a dude likes a dude,” Leon tried to explain, taking a great interest in who was around as he spoke.

Makoto didn’t really get it but if it was a weird topic for a first encounter, he figured it didn’t matter too much and he could look it up later. He nodded in faux understanding.

The two walked back into the school together, sipping drinks and ice-breaking along the way. Talents, families, dream jobs, old middle schools, hobbies and the like were shared. Leon made a quick glance at Makoto's shoes just as they were stepping inside the gates. Makoto pretended not to notice because he mistook it for the subtle art of flirting that he’d see on shows Komaru and mum watched, making him more embarrassed than he needed to be. In fact, now that the two were walking closer through the double doors, Leon was beginning to run out of conversation topics and Makoto’s embarrassment grew. His cheeks felt strained and his shoulders tensed to his ears. The more embarrassed he grew, the more he repeated the words from the other conversation in his head.

_Homo... dudes liking dudes._

A very troubling thought hit him. 

_Am I being homo? Homoing? Is that what it’s called?_

Even when the two parted ways (he took too long to stop Leon from rushing over to chat up the ridiculously colourful with a guitar), Makoto didn’t stop thinking about it all the way through the opening ceremony. His first classes were pretty dull. Standard introductions, handing out timetables, quick rundowns on the expectations and criteria, the usual new school year lectures. The one class that broke this pattern (apart from _talent elective_ where he got to take a break) was Physical Education. Instead of talking, the class was instructed to show off their athletic abilities. Everyone ran around the gym for as long as possible and if anyone started walking, they were forced to sit out until everyone else was done. This class had everyone from Makoto’s homeroom which included Leon. Leon quit almost immediately. 

Makoto tried to stick it out for as long as possible but even with the sweat, heat and pain of running, he still couldn’t stop thinking. He tried to use his break line to find a dictionary but the library was being used by someone who clearly didn’t like him very much. He shook his head to make the worry go away, as well as his hair which was sticking to his face. The shake caused him to notice just how toned a few of his classmates were. The quiet soldier ran fast and her legs looked strong enough to lift weights on their own. The big biker was slower but he was barely breaking a sweat. It intimidated him slightly but it also brought on an intense admiration that also felt too much like the embarrassment from the morning. Before he knew it, his overthinking left him stood still and he watched his classmates run around. The whistle blew loud enough to shake him and he was forced to walk to the stage to wait for everyone else. A few of the girls were panting and complaining but Leon looked more bored than anything else. He saw Makoto and smiled, patting a spot next to him.

“I thought you were a baseball star,” Makoto huffed as he pulled himself onto the stage.

“I am. Doesn’t mean I like running around.”

Makoto rolled his eyes and fell onto his back.

Once the teacher decided enough time had passed (the four most competitive wouldn’t stop challenging each other and no-one was willing to give up,) it was time to move onto sport specific activities.Everyone went outside. Since Leon was in the class, everyone was forced to play baseball, much to Leon’s misery.

“Aren’t you the--”

“That doesn’t mean I _like_ playing baseball!”

Through a _civil discussion_ with the teacher _,_ Leon was able to field first. Makoto, out of mostly bad luck, was the first to pitch. His throw and aim were nothing special but he was incredibly nervous about the 192cm tall behemoth that was the batter. The bat looked like a toothpick when she held it. Makoto gulped, braced himself and threw the ball. With the intense gaze of an animal, she swung and that was all Makoto remembered before his life ended as he was convinced he was dead. It took a second for him to realise that he’d closed his eyes. He peeked through the hands covering his face to see a glove in front of him. He followed the arm to find Leon on the other side, barely shaken up at all. This was strange as to Makoto’s knowledge, Leon was supposed to be on the other side of the field.

“H-how did...?”

“Very impressive Kuwata,” the teacher congratulated, “but in actual baseball--”

“I know, I know, I ran before the batter hit it.” Leon stood up, ran his hand through his hair and tried to pass the ball back to Makoto. Makoto did not take the ball. He stared up at Leon.

“If I may, sir, I had neglected to speak before but I find the safety precautions of this exercise unsatisfactory. Had Leon not swooped in, breaking the rules of the game, Makoto may have suffered from a concussion or worse as he was not wearing a helmet.”

“Alright, we get _Mr. Hall Monitor_.”

Conversation began as normal as Makoto took the ball from Leon’s glove. Leon chuckled and leaned closer, practically whispering into his ear.

“Y’know, I could probably get a few girls with a gig like this. Imagine that; _Baseball Superstar Leon Kuwata Saves Classmate From A Coma._ Think of how many chicks would want to date a literal hero.”

Makoto smiled, “Good to see you have your priorities straight.”

“Makoto,” a husky voice called from the batter’s point, “are you okay? I didn’t mean to hit it in such a straight line.”

He waved to her nonchalantly, “I’m okay! Nice swing, by the way.”

“That was such a cool catch!” A familiar looking girl ran up to Leon and praised him. Makoto couldn’t quite place where he knew her from.

Leon elbowed Makoto, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “You oughta play more often. We’ll work on your throw but other than that, we’re perfect babe bait.”

Makoto rolled his eyes while his friend tried to act humble. Although, the attention did mean that he could stand a little closer to Leon. It was still confusing to work out in his head but in his heart, it just felt right. 

In a sense, that was a lucky shot. Sure, he could’ve ended up with his brain in the grass but it was worth it. It was lucky he dropped his phone and fell on his face. It was lucky they had ended up in their positions. It was a lucky strike all the way through and he could not wait to Google what the hell _homo_ meant.


	2. Freudian Slip

Makoto felt confident in the choices he’d made for classes. Somehow, the prestigious Hope’s Peak had overlooked their lucky students and their lack of electives. The headmaster had explained to him that since the goal was to train their students’ talents to the best of their ability, all of their electives were picked automatically. For example, Sayaka was put into music, media and costume design (she was told that she wasn’t always going to have seamstresses on hand for every performance,) whereas Taka was placed in law, humanities and sociology (hall monitors had to become good leaders somehow.) Seeing the full list made him realise just how wide the variety was and it almost made him feel like a waste on the system. He wondered how many people were taking classes like computer science or english. 

He reviewed his timetable for the day. First class was homeroom, then maths, lunch, P.E, home economics and psychology (it stood out because he’d heard one of his classmates talking about how they’d found it fun. He couldn’t remember which one.) Once he’d finished organising the books and signed out of the library, he headed to class.

Now that he had more classes to keep track of, the stress was finally catching up to him. Two exams promised for one class and two other assignments to think about. At least he got to cook curry for the next lesson. The best part was psychology. The class wasn’t packed but there were a few faces he’d seen while walking around. One was from the classmate he’d overheard; Kyoko Kirigiri. Her hair was down with one part braided with a ribbon but other than that, she looked formal enough to pass as an adult. Just his luck that he’d sit in the empty seat next to her. They exchanged a greeting and then focused on the teacher who was explaining the new assessment task. Find a partner, read a book, make a power-point and present it. It was probably more complicated than that but he was already a week behind on note-taking and he didn’t want to stress himself out more than he had to.

The teacher randomly assigned partners and Makoto happened to get Kyoko. He sighed in relief, he was probably going to do fine with the  _ ultimate detective  _ on his team. Not that he doubted anyone else’s ability but there was one person in the class who looked awfully closed off and anxious. At least he’d heard Kyoko making casual conversation, albeit very rarely. After class ended, the pair went straight to the library to retrieve the textbook and met up in Kyoko’s room with small journals and post-it notes. 

Kyoko took off her jacket, swinging it on the back of her chair. She opened the textbook and passed Makoto a pencil. The two read the passage in their heads, taking notes as they went. The plan was to combine whatever they’d written individually and anything repeated was most likely going to be kept in the power-point. Sound was limited to pencil scribbles and the small creak barely heard in leaning closer. The table gave the distinct no nonsense aura of an intense study session but he kept shifting in his seat. He needed to talk, not about anything in particular. Just enough to fill the gap. The only thing he needed to do was think of a topic of conversation. He looked at Kyoko’s expression. It was stern, cold and serious. He’d have to think of something relevant.

“So,” he had to clear his throat from further voice cracks, “do you have much experience in... oral presentations?”

“It has always been a part of my learning curriculum, so yes,” she answered without looking up.

“G-good, I’d just thought since you’re a detective, you’d be busy with that and not school work.”

Kyoko started to erase something with the back of the pencil. “I did do detective work but my father insisted that I put my school work first. I don’t blame him but I still wish to get this done as quickly as possible to move onto more important matters.”

“You don’t think school is important?”

“No, not to me. My family name is enough to get me the opportunities I need for things later in life.”

Makoto lowered his arms onto the table. “You don’t even have to try?”

“Are you ready to turn the page yet?” she pinched the bottom of the page.

“Yeah.” He waited for her to flip it over. “So does that mean you don’t need to put any work in? You can just pass without trying?”

“Theoretically. It’s worked for me thus far. However, I would appreciate some effort on your part.”

“Right, sorry.” Makoto shuffled a little closer to read the passage.

The two continued to take notes in relative silence. For some reason, the quieter things were, the more itchy Makoto became. He also noticed an increase in tingly noses and blocked throats. Anything to make it more awkward. His knee was bouncing under the table. It wasn’t long before he’d lost track and he was staring off into space. The weird thoughts came and went in short bursts. 

_ Wednesday. Wed-nes-day. Wed-ness-monster.  _

He looked down at Kyoko’s gloves. The purple fabric looked pleasant to touch and the silver dots on the knuckles shined in the indoor lights. He’d also noticed how small they were. A quick glance at his own hands made him realise that they both had tiny hands.

“Your questions have been leading me to believe you have trouble in school. Are oral presentations a struggle for you?” Kyoko asked, a softness present in her voice.

Makoto hummed in thought. “I wouldn’t say trouble, I’ve just been average. I’m pretty decent at presentations or so I’m hold.”

She looked up. “Hold?”

Makoto shook his head. “ _ Told! _ I meant told. So I’m told.”

She stared at his face. Her pencil began to tilt between her fingers. “You’re too easily distracted, aren’t you?”

“What? Just from one slip up?”

“It’s not the slip I was thinking about,” she raised her other hand. “I had noticed you were taking an interest in my gloves.”

The lack of response made Kyoko smile and give a short chuckle. She put down the pencil between her notebook pages, lining it up with the crease in the middle. She stood up, rifled through some drawers, took something out and slapped it on the table. It was a singular purple glove, identical to the ones she was wearing. She then took her seat again.

“You may touch it, if you’d like.”

Hesitantly, Makoto picked it up and felt it with his fingers. He tried to pull the middle finger and the entrance point. It didn’t stretch much. The fabric felt nice to rub his thumb along one way but not the other. The seam on the side was deep. It was perfect for pinching. Kyoko observed with a small smile.

“It’s nice,” he said.

She nodded. “These were tailored for my hands. Although, these ones are getting a little small. I should remind myself to visit the place again.”

“Do you wash these?”

“Is that you asking if you can wear it?”

“Maybe.”

“Be my guest,” she said, “I have lots of pairs.”

He slipped his hand into the glove. The thumb was on the wrong way. He rolled his eyes, took his hand out and replaced it with the other. To his disbelief, it almost fit him perfectly. A little too small but then again, she’d said that too. The inside was strange and unlike any other gloves he’d worn. It didn’t feel like the intention was to keep her warm but rather to shield her hands from something. Texture wise, it was almost like he wasn’t touching it at all. The parts he could feel were very even and solid unlike the gloves that were filled with fluff.

He took his hand out. Unsure of what else to do with it, he set it back on the table.

“Does that satisfy you?” Kyoko asked, tilting her head.

“Yeah, thank you.”

With that, studying began again. Truth be told, he wasn’t satisfied. The gloves were raising more questions than before. What was under them? Why did she wear them all of the time? Did she wear them while showering?

“Can I turn the page?”

“Yup, hand the page.” Makoto groaned and sank into his arms. “I meant turn the hand. I mean--”

“Not very subtle, are you?” Kyoko quietly giggled.

“It was a mistake, I swear I didn’t mean to say that.” He pushed his fingers into his hair.

She sighed and put down the pencil again. “Have you ever heard of the term  _ Freudian slip _ ?”

He peered through his arms, shaking his head.

“A psychologist, Sigmund Freud, theorized that a person’s brain is made up of the conscious and the subconscious; that is, what a person thinks and what a person thinks without realising it. His main line of work came from attempting to bring thoughts from the subconscious into consciousness to work out deep rooted psychological issues.” She waited to see if he was lost yet. He had to admit, he just wanted to hear her talk about things. Her voice was calming. He didn’t stop her so she continued, “Of course, his theories have since largely been discredited due to the inability to test their accuracy but some of his ideas are still present. A  _ Freudian slip  _ is when someone swaps out certain words on accident that may reveal what someone is genuinely thinking.”

“And you think that’s what I’m doing?”

She shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure. There is very little evidence for it but it is a fun theory. The only one who can tell is the one who makes the slip, I suppose.”

Makoto looked off to nothing in particular. He thought hard about what he wanted to admit or keep inside his head. He looked up at Kyoko who was waiting for an answer. She seemed pretty relaxed without the jacket, the rolled up collared shirt and the lack of pencil. He wondered how far she’d let them stray off course. 

He sat up and tilted his head. “I’ve been wondering what’s  _ under _ the gloves.”

“I figured. A lot of people do.”

She pinched the ends of the fingertips but didn’t pull them off. She quickly tucked a strand of hair behind her hair. She fiddled and tucked and fiddled again. He was amazed that he was finally seeing  _ the _ Kyoko Kirigiri getting nervous about something.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he reassured.

“No, you’ll continue to wonder and I’ll always want to put it off. If I’m honest, I’ve been meaning to cure some curiosity. It makes me uneasy working with someone who grows restless from too many questions about me.” 

She took a deep breath, tucked her hair behind her ear one last time and pinched her left glove. Slowly, gently, she began to slip it off of her hand. He saw the wrist, thin lines bulging from her skin with a tint of pink. It came halfway with short tugs. Revealed for his eyes only, those thin lines became thicker at the knuckles and the gradient went from light pink to crimson. He tried not to let his eyes get too big. The last tug showed her full hand. The skin was flaky. She winced while they both stared from different angles. The knuckles were dark purple, the nails were short and slightly yellow. She shook the glove, presumably to let any loose skin out. Her fingers twitched. Makoto turned himself in an attempt to see the palm.

“Want me to turn the hand?” Kyoko teased but she sounded more weak than usual.

He nodded. She turned her palm to face him, stretching her fingers as far as she could without hurting herself. It clearly hurt when they went too far, the skin she pulled was thin and deeply scarred. Makoto couldn’t help but furrow his brows.

“Whoa,” was all he could say.

“It’s not a pleasant sight, as you’ve probably noticed,” she said and carefully slipped the glove back on. It didn’t look easy, more wincing than when it came off. “Still, it’s good to get it out of the way sooner rather than later.”

“You didn’t have to show me at all. I mean, I’m grateful that you feel comfortable enough to but I’m sorry if I pressured you to.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think of it as pressure. I saw it as... inspiration. Out of everyone in our year, I figured you’d be the most likely to see them first.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Process of elimination.”

He frowned, “Is that really it?”

She chuckled, fiddling with her braid. “No, that was a joke. I’ve been interested in the characters in our grade but very few appear the type who would take an interest in me. That is nothing I didn’t expect out of them though. You happened to be someone who is more interested in others than himself, from what I’ve observed.”

“So, it’s lucky we got paired up,” he concluded.

“Well, it might be. I was going to suggest that you were  _ destined _ to know.”

He blinked. “Do you believe in destiny?”

“It’s healthy to have a little bit of belief in such a force. One cannot possibly blame every single event on oneself.”

“But it was your choice to show me.”

“Simply put, I believe that if it weren’t today, you would have seen my hands in the future one way or another. Perhaps your slip-up was an act of mercy as I can imagine other embarrassing ways for it to happen.” Kyoko rested her chin on her hand.

“It was lucky that it happened sooner rather than later...”

The longer he thought about it, the more sense it made. If she was planning to reveal her secret anyway, a perfect place would be in a room where she feels comfortable and it’s on mostly her own terms. If she was absolutely certain that the future would hold that kind of trust, how could she tell when she would feel the most comfortable until after she’d already placed that trust? And if his subconscious was really feeding into the conscious, like that Freud guy had said, he must have really wanted to know anyway. Her wanting to reveal her secret and him wanting to know it made the reveal a near certainty. Of course! Destiny made perfect sense!

“I’m really glad we’re partners,” Makoto smiled.

A light blush appeared on Kyoko’s face.

“I-I meant for this presentation!”

“I know what you meant,” she said, hiding behind one of her hands.

They took turns looking into each other’s eyes until they finally met, which was followed by some giggling. It was stupid but fun at the same time. Kyoko glanced down at her notes and sighed.

“Maybe we should come back to this tomorrow. I doubt we’ll get anything else done today,” she suggested.

“Yeah, good idea.”

Kyoko stood up, draped her jacket over her shoulders and walked Makoto to the door. He waved goodbye as she leaned against the frame with pink cheeks. He thought she looked cute when she was flustered. He then began to feel flustered himself as he walked back to his room, closed the door and slid down it on his back. He reached the floor with his hands on his face and a grin on his lips.


	3. Pity

Apart from his dorm room, the best place in the school was the library. It was quiet and relaxing and it smelled like books in the dusty way that didn’t make you sneeze but was just the right amount of nose-tingling to be enjoyable. It had a charging port for anyone who preferred a laptop and a secret room that was either filled with nothing or really rare books. Makoto didn’t really know which since he’d long stopped asking when Leon suggested that it would be a good makeout room once he figured out how to get the door open. Sure, it would probably be reasonably barren enough and sealed away but the trouble was that even if you could get the door unlocked, Makoto was going to rain on that parade with his new volunteer work.

Not really fitting into the clubs the other Ultimates set up and joined, he decided that his time was better spent in the second best room and lounging all afternoon. The manga collection was also pretty large which was a huge bonus. He wondered if he could sneak any out to his sister. He’d wheel around his little cart and push books back into shelves that were left on the table or, on the rare occasion someone would actually want to borrow something, write down names on a slip and slap on post-it notes with due-dates onto the cover. To everyone else, it was a really boring job but in a sense, that’s what made it perfect. Makoto’s brand was boring, which was fine by him. It felt good to stand out for once, it was ironic. Plus, it meant he could get some good studying in if he needed it. 

The place was mostly empty save for the quiet Ultimates who would come in and out sometimes. His classmate, Chihiro, often set up near the charging port and typed away on a laptop. They’d talk to each other for a little bit and then Makoto would go back to reorganising the shelves. Another one, Toko, only spoke to him once and that was when she was having trouble finding the romance section. Once he pointed it out to her, she didn’t thank him and instead jumped to some pretty dramatic conclusions about his opinion on her. He was often glad that they didn’t speak to each other afterwards. There was a boy who would come in sometimes to read on his own but there was always something off about him every time he came in. One day, he had a hefty amount of black soot in his hair and a smile on his face. Other days, he’d have flushed cheeks and some writing on his arm but he looked on edge from the moment he put the book down. He was strange and Makoto often wondered what on earth his talent was. He was too nervous to ask. 

Only two people disrupted the peace and quiet; one of them was Kiyotaka. He would open the door, step back from the frame and announce a loud greeting to Makoto with delight, catching him off guard every time. Technically, it didn’t break the policy of minimal noise since he was  _ outside _ of the library. Still didn’t make it any less annoying. Taka would then proceed to ask Makoto if he was catching up on studies, if he needed help, if he needed to take over (Makoto insisted he didn’t need any help as his cart was usually empty) and general concerns about school work. Only afterwards was balance restored and Taka would grab a textbook, sit down and read quietly while taking notes.

The other was Byakuya Togami. There was no Byakuya, only Byakuya Togami. He needed no answer as he’d always respond to  _ why _ questions with “I am Byakuya Togami.” Their first meeting was uneventful, at least to the esteemed Byakuya. Makoto considered it one of the most soul-crushing moments of his life. He had never felt so lonely and worthless until he had gone through the displeasure of introducing himself to his classmates. Most were nice but some made him feel exceptionally unexceptional. Byakuya Togami was one of them.

“Good morning, Byakuya,” Makoto greeted as he pushed the first book into the shelf.

“Plankton,” Byakuya replied.

_ That one’s new _ , Makoto thought to himself. 

Morning shifts were the worst. Either Taka or Byakuya would come in first since no-one else wanted to get up early and if they did, the library was the last place to be. He’d observed that they were never in at the same time, he wasn’t sure if it was coincidence or good planning. 

He tried to go about his day as Byakuya sat in his usual chair, plucked a novel from a shelf and read to himself. The smell of coffee aired through the library which was against the rules but the rich scent was relaxing enough to be waved off. In a way, it was both comforting and distressing whenever he came in. The casual ego-centrism was a burden to bear but they rarely spoke and he always brought in high-quality treats and beverages. Makoto wanted to ask where he would get the coffee. 

As Makoto circled around to load more misplaced books, he glanced at the table to see a plate of beige, round sweets. That glance turned into a look that turned into a stare. They were manjū. He could practically feel his jaw going down on the crusty outside and then slowing down on the soft and sticky centre. Tonguing over the sweet bean jam, the cakey texture could melt down his throat any second. His stomach began to rumble. It was then when he realised he had consistently forgotten to eat breakfast every morning and his body was starting to riot. He fantasized about the sweets and snacks he would eat when his break started.

“Out with it.”

Makoto looked up. “Huh?”

“Don’t they teach the common people not to stare anymore? I cannot say I find it flattering,” Byakuya pushed up his glasses, his voice low and irritated.

“I-I was just looking at the plate you’ve got. We don’t usually allow food and drink in the library but--”

“And you entertain the idea to try to enforce this rule onto me?”

Makoto grew flustered under Byakuya’s pressure. “N-no, I was actually um... they look really sweet and I was just thinking about how hungry I am. Sorry.”

Byakuya’s cold eyes scanned Makoto. He had slipped his finger in between pages and folded the covers over it. He regarded him with an intimidating glare. Makoto began to shake.

“Do you plebeians not eat?” Byakuya finally asked.

“What?”

Byakuya stood up and glided to the cart. He looked down, casting a shadow onto Makoto. 

“You are as weak as you are boring, which is to say very. You do not eat when you are hungry and yet you have the audacity to long for the food from others. Are you unsatisfied with the common, disgusting form that plagues the 99% or are you willingly offering up your body as the dirt I will walk upon?”

Makoto gulped and held his breath. “I-I don’t...”

“It pains me to advise someone like you to show some dignity.” Byakuya took his finger out and slammed the book shut with a hard TWAP. He then dropped it onto the cart. “I wasn’t planning on eating commoner food anyway and it should be considered charity to even grace you with my presence. Consider yourself  _ lucky _ for my inability to comprehend your ignorance.”

And with that, Byakuya left the library. Makoto stood in stunned silence as he had to push his heart down his throat. He had no saliva with which to swallow but the lump had to go down somehow. He looked down at the book. It had a nice, thick cover with golden letters reading “Far From The Madding Crowd.” The title alone spoke volumes about Byakuya's mindset, Makoto thought. He’d never read the book but it seemed like something a rich person would read. It sounded classy and didn’t have pictures on the front. It had to be for rich people, surely.

What brought him back into the room was the still present scent of coffee coming from the table. The manjū was sitting on a plate, untouched and begging to be eaten. He’d barely remembered whatever lesson he was supposed to learn about not taking other people’s food from elementary school because within seconds, he’d sat down at the table and devoured the first three sweets. They were still warm, albeit not very. The mess that stuck to his fingers reminded him of why the no food policy existed in the first place. He looked at the mug of coffee and curiosity whispered in his ear. It looked barely drunk. Was he even planning on drinking it? Makoto picked up the mug and sipped. It hit his tongue and it was so bitter that he was about to spit it out when the door opened again. 

Byakuya looked like he was going to say something but paused to stare down at Makoto’s puffed cheeks and creased brows. It was a sad sight. Thankfully, Makoto’s hand was away from the mug and it was almost in the exact spot where it was left.

“I see you’ve taken the form of a pig like the livestock you are.” He looked away for a moment. 

There was a contemplative silence which was killing Makoto from just how bitter this droplet was. He forced himself to swallow it and his cheeks sank again.

“Very lucky indeed,” Byakuya mumbled as he turned away and the door closed behind him.

Classes started shortly after. The two didn’t mention the morning or give an explanation to whatever Byakuya meant by  _ lucky. _ Makoto was given another chance to eat during home economics as the assessment called for curry. Part of the assessment task was to walk around and criticize other people’s work based on presentation, taste and texture but he just wanted to eat curry. He tasted his own and felt content. He tasted the next bench over and realised how lackluster his recipe was. There was sweet curry that was warm and flavourful, spicy curry that only became spicy a couple of seconds after he’d bitten into it, a savoury curry that he could feel his muscles growing from. Strange sensations from an otherwise ordinary dish. He wasn’t surprised that most of his classmates were girls but they acted as if this wasn’t the best thing he’d ever tasted.

He packed his average curry up into two plastic containers and slipped them into his bag. Next class was maths which made him groan in annoyance. His class left a little early as one of the girls made it her duty to clean  _ every single bench on her own _ . He felt guilty but she insisted so strongly that denying her made it even worse. As such, he was the second to arrive. The first was outside of the classroom with her arms folded and her back against the wall. 

He didn’t know much about Mukuro Ikusaba but from what he’d observed, she was a soldier who rarely spoke unless she was spoken to first. On the first day of school, she wore a skirt. The days following, she started stretching the school uniform policy to allow her to wear pants. Judging from her vibe (and the one time she pulled a knife in P.E) he could only guess what kind of meeting took place for her to get her way. What bothered him was during his breaks, he’d see her training and drinking and studying but he’d never seen her eat. Someone had once brought donuts to share but she was the only one who didn’t take one. Some days, mouths were drooling over the meaty smell coming from the cooking room but she remained unfazed. Pity wasn’t the right word, he thought.  _ Concern _ fit the bill better. She wasn’t paying attention as Makoto walked into the class, pulled out one container of average curry and set it on her desk. To make sure there was no confusion, he tore a page from his maths book and wrote a note to be slid on top. He placed the spoon he hadn’t used yet beside it. He left the room, smiled at Mukuro and sat in the hallway to wait for the teacher to arrive.

Mukuro entered the class and stood puzzled at her desk. She’d picked up the note and read to herself.

“Beef curry for Mukuro Ikusaba. I hope you like it!” 

There was also a smiley face. She looked around for any sign of who had gifted it to her. Makoto didn’t stick his head up, he thought that would ruin the fun. Still, he watched as she opened the lid, stuck her finger into the curry and then into her mouth. She hesitated and then sat down with the spoon to continue. She ate as quickly as she could before the teacher turned around and she slammed the container shut and slid it into her bag. For the first time, he saw her smile. More than that, she was blushing. Twirling her hair between her fingers and tapping her other hand on the desk. She kept looking around but Makoto turned away so she didn’t know. Not much math was actually learned when he kept trying to sneak glances without getting caught. He felt like he was in middle school all over again.

For a couple of ego boosting seconds, he stayed outside of the classroom doors to hear anything else. She walked out with the container in one hand and a spoon in the other. He wondered if he should subtly bring it up when he was interrupted by one of their classmates, Aoi Asahina.

“Hey, I knew you were eating something in class! I could smell it from the front of the room,” she giggled.

“It’s not exactly a secret. Though, I do wonder what caused someone to anonymously send me a box of curry.” Mukuro pushed another spoonful into her mouth.

Aoi thought for a second, tapping her finger on her chin. Makoto remembered hearing Byakuya complaining that  _ she should keep her thinking in her head, any idiot can think visually. _

“Hm... maybe today’s just your lucky day,” she concluded with a smile.

The two began to walk together in the opposite direction to where Makoto wanted to be; away from the library for his next shift. He debated following them. Figuring it was creepy and he didn’t need an additional lecture from Taka about hallway etiquette, he turned around and headed up the stairs.

_ Lucky? What part of offering a meal is lucky? Isn’t that more based on compassion than luck? _ he wondered as he made his way through the school. While in thought, he still waved and smiled to the people he recognised even if the names for those faces slipped his mind. He and Kyoko had begun to wave when she smiled and turn her hand around as a subtle gesture. It took him a moment for him to realise the joke. He made a note to remember to do that next time they saw each other.

He stepped through the library door. The first question on his mind was why all of the books were on the shelves instead of on the tables or cart. The second was why specific sections of the library were sorted in alphabetical order. Not every section but enough to make it weird. He dropped his bag behind the main desk, signed in and then... sat down. This was such a rare occurrence that it felt wrong by nature. The final weird thing was when he noticed that there was a note stuck to the drawer where Sudoku books and random revision sheets were stored. He peeled it off and read it aloud.

“The books have been put away. If you’re too useless to eat, you’re too useless to work.”

He blinked in disbelief. The handwriting was beautiful with clean lines and a sense of elegant purpose to it. He could only imagine two people writing it and one of them had recently complained about a programming assignment that made it impossible to leave the computer room. Something about the computers being more high-functioning than laptops and twice as efficient. The second made a little sense but he imagined that Taka’s handwriting would be less refined. Taka also mentioned that he had filled up almost all of his lines with additional classes, extracurricular activities and study sessions which would mean he would have no time to do any of the shelving.

Regardless of his confusion, he popped open his remaining curry and then remembered he didn’t have a spoon. He bolted down to the cafeteria to retrieve a plastic one and then raced back up to the library. Still, it never left his mind.  _ Why would they decide to help me and remind me to eat? _

He quickly forgot about it the next day as he headed up for the morning shift. He figured there was a cram session as there were textbooks stacked on the cart. He sighed and pushed them to their correct spots. Byakuya wasn’t in for all of that morning. He couldn’t say he was terribly surprised although he couldn’t place if there was any disappointment. He had left that note on the top of the desk which reminded him to go down for breakfast once he was done. Everything felt as it should. The school day was running like a slow moving clock as per usual. He did remember the wave to Kyoko and the two snickered at others’ confusion. 

Afternoon shift came on and another oddity was laid on the desk; a plate of assorted macarons. There was no note this time but given the events of the day before, he could only assume it was the same person though the theory was beginning to make less sense. In any case, he ate the flavours he liked and saved the rest for someone who would enjoy them more. Crunchy and sweet, light with a sticky centre and a sugary fluffiness that buzzed in him. 

As he crunched and munched, it made him think about his encounter with Mukuro. Was this the luck she was talking about? Was it lucky that someone had taken pity on him and given him treats or was it something else? If his kindness to Mukuro was purely compassion but she saw it as luck, was the same thing happening to him? Was it going to be lucky when he would come back into his homeroom offering some leftovers? Where did the line between luck and compassion stop? Was it all down to perspective? Does this anonymous sweet bringer see it as kindness or luck?

He shook his head and bagged the rest. The frequent arguments he was having with himself reminded him of the same late nights he spent at home days before he’d arrived at Hope’s Peak.  _ Luck? What kind of an abstract talent like that deserves to be at Hope’s Peak? _ Had he the brain power, maybe he’d have enough to say on how saddening that was. For whom, he wasn’t sure. Komaru had sensed it one day and the two watched some shojun anime to make him feel better. Average people in extraordinary situations made him feel more at home at the time. He wished he could watch those again. Though he would never admit it, he was starting to miss his sister.

He carried the thought all the way back to his dorm room where he lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Feeling a need to eat more than sugar treats, he was also enjoying some cup ramen. He didn’t know when these spouts of longing had started but he suspected that he was only noticing it sooner now that nothing else was on his mind. Middle school was all about reputation and work so all of this would stay on particularly lonely afternoons and his dreams. In high-school, the people he cared about already had their own set of problems and didn’t mind his abnormal normalities. Now that he had more time on his own, things became a lot sadder. He hated that. He was supposed to be the gung-ho one, after all.

The doorbell rang, shaking him for a moment. Makoto sat up and walked to the door. He didn’t expect to look up at the towering presence of Byakuya Togami.

“Hey,” Makoto greeted, feeling sudden dread. “Is something up?”

Byakuya scoffed, “What is  _ up  _ is your pathetic, ungrateful attitude. Not one word about the pity I gave you the other day.”

Makoto’s next string of words sounded more vulnerable than he wanted. “I thought... you didn’t care about me enough to need me to validate that. I figured your  _ pity _ didn’t need a thanks since I’m so below you and everything.”

Byakuya looked like he was about to say something when he suddenly stopped himself. His quickfire responses stopped in an instant and he was left standing there, speechless.

“But you’re right; I should have thanked you. Thank you for the manjū and the macarons.” He stopped to laugh. “I just realised those both started with  _ M. _ Haha.”

“You can’t prove I gave you macarons,” Byakuya shot back.

“Well, they looked and tasted really nice and you’re the only one who would have any reason to send me food so I figured--”

“You are so below me that you’re projecting your longing onto the only person who has any dignity to treat you like the doormat you are. I gave my reasons for the disgusting slime pat that you call  _ manjū _ and that luck has made you blind to your own patheticness.”

Makoto, for the first time, had the balls to say something back. “How is that lucky? That’s just basic kindness.”

“What?”

“You said it yourself; you have your reasons! Luck isn’t the same as someone else’s act of kindness, especially not when that someone demands gratitude for their kindness! Yes, from my point of view, I could see anonymously receiving gifts as luck but from your side, that’s a complete lie! You can’t just blame luck for you deciding that it would be a good idea to give me things, that’s only an excuse I... can... use.”

Suddenly, he felt lost in his own words. What Aoi and Mukuro said made perfect sense now. Their ignorance of Makoto’s kindness would logically make them believe in luck. Had they known his intentions from the beginning, it no longer made sense to call it luck. Luck was an ignorance of source or intention but the knowledge that something had happened.

“Well, if you’re done with your silly rant, I believe a point has been made.” Byakuya sneered. “Maybe one day, you’ll come to appreciate how good you had it when I cared.”

Makoto almost let him walk away when his words finally hit him.

“Wait, Byakuya!” he called out and almost reached to grab his arm when his better judgement forced him to pull away.

He turned around and impatiently cocked a brow.

“I’m sorry. I know you and I will never be on the same level, as you keep reminding me, but if you need any more gratitude, here it is.” Makoto took a deep breath. “Thank you... for caring. It may be nothing to you but it means everything to me. Call me a pleb or the 99% or whatever... just know that I’m thankful for your...  _ pity _ .”

Byakuya stood with his arms folded as Makoto delivered a smile to close it off. He stared down at his believed inferior for a few seconds, blue eyes calmly assessing what to make of this grand gesture. All he could do was give a satisfied yet condescending smirk. Not even a  _ You’re welcome _ and he had turned and walked back to his dorm room. 

Makoto let out his breath and his heart was left to rapidly catch up with the rest of his body. The strain in his chest made him more tired than when he was trying to fall asleep.

He returned to his room, flew onto his bed and passed out. Someone was going to be  _ very lucky  _ with a bag of macarons tomorrow.


End file.
